


Down in New Orleans

by 87Tam_the_piemaker87



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, Homosexuality, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-06-27 12:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15685722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/87Tam_the_piemaker87/pseuds/87Tam_the_piemaker87
Summary: An AU in which Louis makes a vampire of Lestat. The De Lioncourts lose their money and titles and accept work at Pointe Du Lac plantation in Louisiana. After suffering years of abuse from his family, the Attention Lestat receives from Monsieur Louis is welcome respite that he's happy to play around with (in true Lestat fashion ;) )





	1. Chapter 1

Monsieur de Pointe du lac sat passively in his armchair, emerald eyes scanning through the paper. It had been this way for some time, his sister reading over his shoulder as and when it interested her and the two ambling their way through the overcast afternoon in sweet and regular companionship. 

Louis had seen to his duties with ease, and the plantation had been running so smoothly recently that it produced something akin to boredom within him, that even something as mundane as a misshapen spoon might seem out of the ordinary. 

Still it only bordered on boredom, and this afternoon had been pleasant enough. The soft bird song drifting through the French windows and the scent of summer flowers only sought to soothe them further. 

He could never have known that flicking through the employment section would have changed his life so drastically. 

"The de Lioncourts are looking for work!?" The even blend of shock and excitement in his sister's voice was tangible as she leaned in closer. 

De Lioncourt...the name had been thrown about time and time again throughout their lives. They had been an illustrious family in Louis' youth, that much he knew and little else. 

"It would seem that way." In his contempt of idle gossip he left it at that - or would have - had Brigitte not pressed the matter.

"Well we simply must contact them. You know the youngest brother just killed a pack of wolves with his bare hands?" Louis sighed, flipping to another page. 

"Is that so?" He wouldn't entertain such a ludicrous notion. Brigitte scowled. 

"Yes he did. It's common knowledge now, the talk of l'Auvergne and beyond, before you take that tone with me. We have to employ them if they'll relocate. We'll treat them with more respect than other employers would, and imagine how it would look for us to have a well bred, genuine French family working under us." 

He couldn't argue so much with these facts. He did know that the family had three brothers, all of whom would be valuable man power. A dash of authentic French cuisine too, would not ggo remiss, with the mother in the kitchens, and the father could easily help occasionally in the gardens in his old age. 

"Fetch me some ink then, if this family so intrigues you."   
Brigitte shot her brother a look, knowing full well that he agreed with her and not appreciating his pride. Still, she drifted off to complete the task, since nothing by the Pointe du Lacs was never done with too much urgency.

~ - : - ◇ - : - ~

 

He was not ready. He never would be. New Orleans had never been a prospect for him and he vehemently did not wish to leave. 

With gritted teeth he watched as the help lugged the trunks they had piled their lives into to the carriage. Five in all - a trunk each and nothing else. Everything else would be sold to pay for the trip. 

He had even proposed leaving the family and pursuing a life in Paris; their affection for him had always been scarce and there would be one less mouth to feed. But in the spitefulness of old age - and really Lestat could conceive of no other motive - his father had demanded that he come. 

"I've been communicating with Monsieur Louis, and he's agreed for us to get you a job in New Orleans and bring your wages back to Pointe du Lac Manor."   
Gabrielle nodded, coming to her son's side. Lestat said nothing.

"It's little consolation for you I realise but you'll fare better around people. It may lift your spirits." 

"I could get a job in Paris." Came the dismissive response, though he was marginally grateful for the consideration. It would help. 

Gabrielle took a wad of money from her coin purse and waved it towards him. 

"We will stop in the town so you can find yourself employment. Monsieur Louis has taken the liberty of mentioning you to some of the more legitimate stores. You will thank him for this. You will also buy a horse with this money to get yourself home with, we will no doubt be restricted from use of the family carriage. It's all that's left. Do not squander it."   
The edge to her voice went barely detected as Lestat all but snatched the money from her. He had the right mind to squander it after such a lecture. Perhaps he would. 

"Smile, Lestat. New Orleans is beautiful and our new master gracious. He may even be handsome." Gabrielle left his side with just the smallest hint of a smirk. His mother's acknowledgement of his preferences was one of the few things that made being the youngest de Lioncourt son faintly bearable. 

Without a final glance at the chateau he had lived his whole life in, Lestat took a seat in the carriage beside one of his brothers, and set out to say very little for the whole journey to New Orleans. Though given his nature this would undoubtedly change within a quarter of an hour, half at best.


	2. Getting Settled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The De Lioncourts arrive at New Orleans. Lestat finds employment.

Getting to New Orleans had been insufferable. The stiff wooden seats had made it impossible to take much rest. His brothers had antagonised him when he spoke, only encouraging him to provoke them more until they grew more venemous and it fell into some vicious circle, and his father had silenced them all in that booming voice of his. 

Lestat had almost gotten himself expelled from the carriage then, lashing out as the marquis cracked down on him the most. If Gabrielle had not stepped in he would have had to walk to the plantation. He would have felt smug were he not so frustrated. 

That last fight occurred only an hour or so from New Orleans, and so grateful was he to get away from the posse of hyenas that he was cursed to call family that he bounded out of the door the second it was opened. He would have gone further had Gabrielle not also exited to speak with him. 

"Remember, get yourself a horse and a job. Monsieur Louis mentioned one of the jewellery shops in the French Quarter, if you introduce yourself they may conduct an interview. Do not spend the day gallivanting with aristocrats or prostitutes."   
Prostitution...that might be fun if he didn't manage to find a job.

"Do you understand me?"  
She spoke slowly, sternly, to ensure her son couldn't exploit any misunderstanding as an excuse to defy her. But Lestat had just laid his eyes on the city for the first time, and his mind was elsewhere. Gabrielle grasped at his arm roughly.

"Lestat! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, exponentially." Came the drifting reply. He tore himself from his mother's grip and began to walk off without so much as a glance. 

"Ask directions to the plantation once you've finished! We don't need you getting lost on the first day!" 

.~♡~.

It was hot, the kind of heat one would never have endured in France. Sticky and stagnant, but fragrant with the aroma of the draping summer flowers that scaled windows and embraced street lamps.

It was loud, also, deafening, a welcoming recipe of a hundred strumming, drumming street musicians' melodies that promised carelessness, joy and untold sin all at once. - arch - and the people - oh, the people - never in one place had he seen such a colourful blend of peoples and cultures.

From one direction came an elegant French couple, arm in arm, the peak of fashion and sensibility. In another place a Jamaican family were selling fresh gumbo whilst their two young children sat chattering away, idly swinging their legs. By the entrance of a tavern a furious drunken Spaniard screamed profanities at everyone and no-one. 

This was no Paris, but it was colourful, exciting and exotic. And Lestat could work with it. Stumbling his way through the city, drunk on the bustle, he gradually made his way to the French Quarter and cast his gaze around for any jewellery shops. 

It was not until he entered the fourth one that any luck would be had. It was a lovely looking shop, something plucked out of the books his mother read. A swirling cast iron lantern hung above the door, swathed in gorgeous green flower garlands. The window possessed those occasional circular garnishes reminiscent of a pond ripple - crown glass - if his memory served him correctly. 

Behind it was placed a glittering display of adornments, a lavish silver and diamond necklace the piéce de resistance atop a black velvet podium with matching earrings placed within it's curve. Lestat couldn't help but smile, this place was perfect. 

The door as he turned to it was some cream painted high quality would that he hadn't the slightest knowledge to identify, and it held it's own set of six crown glass window panels to match. A sign hung upon it reading 'Ouvrir'. Lestat made his way in, enjoying the tinkling of the bell above the door as he prepared to charm himself into employment. Within an instant a short, attractive woman looked to him from her position behind the counter. Her face adopted a bright and precious smile.

"Bon matin Monsieur! How can I help you?"   
Walking up to the counter with his chin raised slightly, Lestat donned his own prize winning smile. 

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle. I'm looking for employment. The gentleman my family is working for - Monsieur de Pointe du Lac - left word of my arrival in a few places and -"

"Ah! You must be Lestat!" He felt relieved for his final success, not even remotely perturbed at being cut off. 

"Yes, cheríe, I am he." 

The young lady's eyes flashed with excitement and she leaned in to murmur.  
"Did you truly kill a pack of wolves with your bare hands?" 

Lestat resisted the urge to roll his eyes. For the amount he loved to talk about himself he loathed repeating this story. For him it had been something of necessity, over rapidly, something that had torn a dear companion from him. And how she knew of it was another matter entirely. But he smirked for the sake of himself and made to reply. 

"Not quite. I had a gun and managed to shoot a few, and once it was empty I beat them with it. Has news really travelled so far?" He cocked a brow, making sure to maintain his sultry expression.

"That's still very impressive! Well not so many people know here. I know because of Monsieur Louis. Or more for his sister, Madmoiselle Brigitte. It's all she can talk about since your situation has been arranged."

Lestat quirked a brow but decided not to press it, focusing on the matter at hand.   
"And do you think there might be a position here for an international hero?" He winked. The girl grinned.

"Well my dear Wolfkiller, My father is the owner of the establishment. I will call him down for you and we shall see what can be done."

And so Lestat, with his effortless charisma, managed to finesse himself employment. It was not until a few hours later while on the shift that he realised he had forgotten to buy a horse. So be it, a walk would do him good. 

.~◇~.

Pointe du Lac manor was something out of a fairytale. With it's pristine white columns and marble façade, it seemed quite at home in a myth of antiquity, and the savage and exotic landscape only enhanced it's elegance. Gabrielle de Lioncourt cast her eyes over the mansion appreciatively. Though it was a bittersweet moment - one in which she was forced to dwell upon all that had been lost to her family. 

As the carriage ground to a halt, her eyes fell upon a tall, well built man of around twenty five. His well groomed ebony hair fell in waves past his shoulders, and he clasped his hands behind his back in the stance of a perfect gentleman. He was handsome, perfectly so. She thought imminently of Lestat's affinity for men with dark hair and tragic eyes, which this man possessed in a deep hue of emerald. 

This would likely prove a problem if her youngest did not behave himself. Still, the sadness of this man's eyes was lightened by a soft and pleasant smile as the de Lioncourts disembarked the carriage and the patriarch walked towards him. 

"Ah, Monsieur de Lioncourt. I humbly welcome you to your new home." Louis extended his hand to the ill-sighted De Lioncourt. 

"We appreciate the welcome, sir, but one should not shake the hand of their master. I offer a bow in its place." He spoke through gritted teeth, as though he resented his situation, and bowed deeply. Louis frowned.

"That is not necessary, Monsieur. We will treat you with the utmost respect while you remain under our employment."

"And in turn, we will show you the same. This is my wife, Gabrielle, and my two sons Phillipe and Auguste."

Further pleasantries were exchanged, with the De Lioncourts formally pledging service to the Pointe du Lacs, before Louis ushered them to the servant quarters and introduced them to the rest of the family.


	3. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat makes his way to the plantation with a few hiccups. Louis frets like the cinnamon roll he is and first impressions are made.

"Pointe du Lac plantation is a good few hours walk from here. Are you sure you're up to it?" 

Lestat nodded immediately at his new employer, Monsieur Henri. His mind was set upon the walk, and he was too proud for charitable offers.

"It'll do me good to familiarise myself with the route. If you could just point me in the right direction I would be much obliged." 

The older gentleman pulled a compass out of his coat pocket.  
"If you make your way down to the bridge to the left of this path, there will be sign posts. When you get to the bayou I would recommend remaining on the outskirts and heading North East." 

He pressed the compass into Lestat's hand.  
"Be careful, there are many ways to meet your death in those swamps." 

"Thank you sir, I'll be here tomorrow morning without a scratch." With a calm smile, Lestat made his way to the foot bridge, basking in the light of the evening sun. He only wondered how long this feeling of content would remain before he grew bored, or tired, or hot and bothered. Or all four. How frustrated he would be with nobody around to heed his temper tantrums.

~♡~

Louis had come down to the servant's quarters with his sister on Gabrielle's insistence. She must begin to practise cooking immediately and who better to serve than their new master. Never one too proud or above good hospitality, he graciously agreed. After what he would describe as little more than a 'satisfactory' meal they sat in as much comfort as the living space would allow.

"Lestat should be home within an hour or so." Louis remarked to Gabrielle, glancing down at his pocket watch. He was perturbed by the family's lack of mentioning of its youngest member. 

The former Marquis didn't look from his business, and nobody stirred with interest or concern.  
"He'll get here when he does." 

Brigitte seemed to sense her brother's bewilderment, and smiled pleasantly to encourage interaction.

"Well I'm much looking forward to meeting him. We've heard so much about his achiachievement." 

Auguste scoffed.

"It's not half as impressive as he lets on, mademoiselle. It was mostly pure luck, I imagine, and he had his dog for most of the dirty work." 

Gabrielle glared at her son.  
"Auguste! You know very well he hates to speak of it. He's embellished that tale far less than most." 

"Because he doesn't want to get caught in his lies probably." 

There was a tense silence, during which Louis and Brigitte exchanged a subtle glance. 

"Nevertheless, a man with such a story around him must hold some interest." Louis pressed calmly, and after receiving a biting response from the other brother he decided to change the subject. 

The mood lightened somewhat as they spoke of other things, the conversation flowing thick and fast. Still for all of their charm Louis could not push the De Lioncourt's treatment of Lestat from his mind. 

Was he so insufferable to be so abused? Or were the brothers merely jealous of his acquired fame? He found himself dreadfully concerned for the young man before they'd even met. An hour or so turned into two, nearing three, and Louis' concern only deepened. 

~♡~

Lestat's appreciation for that compass absolutely soared upon reaching the bayou, but his self respect waned tenfold as he tripped over a tree root and dropped it into the abyss of a marsh. 

The phrase 'fucking imbecile' was thrown about as he pondered his options - to try to fish it out in hopes that it wasn't damaged or to press on with some vague idea of North East that may never land him at the plantation. 

With a heavy sigh Lestat removed his coat and hung it carefully upon a nearby tree - better to remove his shirt as well actually, to avoid having to wash it for the following morning. He crouched down, right hand braced against the mossy trunk and the other delving into the depths of this exponential puddle. 

It was far deeper than expected, and he soon found that even stretching to his absolute limit his fingers wouldn't graze the bottom. Slapping a bug off of his shoulder he made to find some sort of branch, all the while inwardly and outwardly cursing the landscape.

~♡~

"I could send a carriage out for him?" Louis suggested to Gabrielle as he and his sister stood in the doorway of the servants quarters. He tried to mask his inner worry by remaining stern. She shook her head, mane of golden hair following suit.

"He can fend for himself, sir. It's likely his own fault and we would hate to inconvenience you." 

"It's no bother, truly. He's your youngest child-"

"If he's dense enough to get himself lost on the first night we don't want him here anyway." Phillipe sneered from inside the room.

"Hold your tongue, boy! Do not interrupt Monsieur Louis!" Gabrielle's face was a picture of venom as she hissed at her son, before it softened into a calm smile upon turning back to Louis.

"Really, you've nothing to worry yourself over. He is fiercely independent." Louis stiffened slightly and nodded. Really, who was this man to him? If his family did not care, it was not his responsibility. 

"If you change your mind, ask one of the slaves to fetch me. The Bayou is a treacherous place at the best of times." He turned on his heel and bid his sister follow him with his hand, knowing that his resolve would likely soften and he would wait up well into the night for news of Lestat. He cared too much for people.

"Bon nuit, Monsieur Louis." Came Gabrielle's drifting reply.  
"We will serve you your breakfast on the morrow."

~♡~ 

By the time Lestat finally reached the compass, the moon was high in the air. The image - If a local were to stumble upon it - was a strange one. After much trial and error with the stick the young Frenchman had resorted to dunking his head and both arms into the miniature pond in 30 second rounds - 15 under and 15 to recuperate. 

He found himself the third time emerging successful, the item having drifted under a rock. However the damage seemed to be irreparable. Whichever way he turned, the needle would not budge. With what could be described as a tantrum of epic proportions he threw the thing against the tree trunk, satisfaction running through him as a heard a tiny shatter, and stayed for a moment to air dry. 

Throwing his clothes back on haphazardly he continued on the previous path, remaining on the outskirts of the bayou as advised and hoping to all that was holy that he was on the right path. As for the compass, he would just tell Monsieur Henri that a bird made off with it and offer compensation. 

~♡~ 

To say Louis had been pacing anxiously and wringing his hands for the last forty five minutes would have been a dramatisation, but he was only moments from it. He had begun to potter, and although he was adamant that he was merely searching for something he'd misplaced days ago, Brigitte new better. Her brother was an anxious, sensitive soul behind his no-nonsense exterior. 

"The good Lord will guide him here safely." Their brother Paul offered softly, having stepped out of the oratory for the first time that day to be with them. This was little consolation to Louis; but to huff would be to argue, and to argue the Lord's omnibenevolence with Paul was to sacrifice your night to a sanctimonious brick wall. So he said nothing. Half an hour ago he had notified Daniel - the head slave - to tell him as soon as Lestat or anyone speaking of him arrived. 

"WHY ARE THEY NOT CONCERNED?" He all but slammed his fist on the table, exasperation over taking his character and startling the other two. 

"He is their child! Their family! He is in a completely unfamiliar place! God forbid if either of you were this late home-"

"Do not take his name in vain, brother." Paul murmured, extending an affectionate hand to his shoulder, some portrait of kindness and virtue incarnate. Louis examined his language and continued in a much calmer manner.

"Heaven forbid, if this happened to either of you, I'd be sick with worry, and I'd have the whole state of Louisiana out there searching for you."

"Our ways are not their ways, cher." Brigitte sighed softly, wrapping her arms around her brothers neck from behind him on the armchair. 

"Do have some faith. If they trust him to care for himself and they've known him his whole life, who are you to contest that?" 

Louis remained silent, bewildered as he massaged the bridge of his nose before glancing at the mantle clock. 1:00.

"Alright, I'll retire at half past the hour. If he's not here by morning we shall worry then."

~♡~

It was soon after this resignation that a rustling from the front of the manor caught their attention. With great restraint Louis walked calmly to the window, to have his eyes fall upon something that quickened his heart.  
Secondarily, it was a young, dishevelled European man without a horse. 

Primarily, it was one of heaven's most divine creations sent upon them to bless them with a mere glance. Though he was no angel with his windswept hair and messy, unlaced shirt, he was indisputably one of the most beautiful men Louis had ever seen, and not at all what he had expected to encounter if this was indeed the young Lestat de Lioncourt. 

His glistening golden hair was not unlike his mother's, only shorter. His perfect features by lantern light displayed a set of eyes with a colour he couldn't yet determine but a glint so sultry, so coy, that it declared; 'You know nothing of me yet you will worship me' and a smile so open and bright it promised; 'I know nothing of you, yet I trust you. You are good.' It was radiant, it seemed to glow brighter than the lanterns, and in a calm, ethereal way. And what a gorgeous pair of lips formed that smile. 

By God was he glad that he'd stayed up.

~♡~

Lestat initially had to repress a smirk as he laid eyes on his next romantic victim. However upon closer inspection he found himself gazing upon a man he'd never expected to find when he was told his hopes of Paris would be torn from him. 

A handsome one. No, not that - a beautiful one. 

He hadn't seen such a man since Nicki, and though his heart had hurt to think of that name since leaving he found such pain draining from him now as water from his hands, swift and gentle. 

This man, with his tragic eyes, silken hair and radiant face had just soothed from his mind thoughts of the only person he had ever come close to loving. Simply by standing there and gazing upon him in return. 

So no, Lestat didn't smirk. He smiled. He smiled as if he were a pauper offered lodging in the palace of Versailles, a thief with the Midas touch. He smiled as if he were the luckiest man in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how you feel about this guys! I'm always open to comments, good or bad 


	4. The Boldness of Angels.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis and Lestat finally have a conversation.

"Can I help you, Monsieur?" Louis called down after some time, noticing how strange it must have been for all three of them to be staring at the stranger.

"I'm looking for the servants quarters." 

"May I inquire after who's asking?"   
Lestat rolled his eyes. Beautiful or not, he was not about to endure this man's nonsense after such a journey. 

"Lestat de Lioncourt." 

 

~ ♡ ~ 

Louis lost himself again in the man's visage, contemplating his luck as his identity was confirmed. 

"Do not entertain sinful thoughts."   
Paul murmured into his ear.   
"I will forgive you, the Lord may not."

"And here I thought Jesus was all forgiving."

"Only if you are truly repentant, Louis." Paul explained. Either the sarcasm had flown way over his head or he had not a malicious bone in his body with which to retort. Likely the latter. 

~♡~

Lestat gazed up at them, half impatient and half satisfied as they spoke in hushed whispers. He was impressed that people were already talking about him.

~♡~

Realising himself and that the poor thing before him was so dishevelled and it was so late, Louis made to speak. 

"I'll have a slave sent down to fetch you, then we'll take you to the servants quarters." 

~ ♡ ~ 

Lestat's expectations were surpassed as he was led up a grand staircase and to a heavy pair of double doors. He couldn't fathom why his new master would wish to see him in person, especially given the time. There was little hesitation after the slave boy knocked. 

The door was pulled open swiftly, and before it stood the gorgeous, unfortunate man he'd already set his sights on. Up closer he was far more beautiful, and now Lestat could observe a stunning set of emerald eyes. He was the only one of the three that possessed them, though they all bore a strong resemblance. 

"Mademoiselle, Monsieurs." Lestat broke the ice with a smirk, offering a small bow. Louis ushered him in and shut the door. 

"It's a great relief to see you arrive safely, even if it is far later than expected." He spoke formally, though there was a softness, a tenderness to his voice. 

"Better late than never. I know your life here would have dragged something awful for my absence." Again, that wicked smirk made its appearance. Louis locked eyes with him and allowed his own lips to curl ever so slightly into some semblance of a smile, one lined with an element of playfulness. 

"I know little of you but I'm sure it would be so. Meet my brother, Paul, and my sister Brigitte. You have her to thank for your employment here, she had much to say of your work with wolves." 

The blonde bowed again to the both of them, marking his disingenuous respect the only way he knew how.  
"Such an honour it is to be in your wonderful family's presence. But if you'll excuse me, I am weary. The walk from New Orleans was nothing if not eventful, but tiring nonetheless." 

Louis nearly choked on air, his eyes blown wide. His siblings reacted in much the same way, in a manner reminiscent of a single role in a play assumed by three different men. 

"You walked...from New Orleans?!" Louis all but squeaked. He was too concerned even to clear his throat. 

Lestat shrugged.   
"Well I forgot to get a horse and by the time the store had closed everyone had gone home." 

"That's commendable Monsieur, but you should not make a habit of it. The bugs in the Bayou could land you with an awful, if not fatal fever." Brigitte spoke for the first time, and Paul followed suit. 

"Our sister is not wrong, Lestat. The Lord was on your side this night but every night hereafter and morning you should find more suitable means of transport. I'm sure we can arrange something."

Lestat rolled his eyes.   
"Thank you, but the Lord had nothing to do with it. Pure luck I assume, though I will be more careful in the future." 

This seemed to strike a nerve with Paul, though ever the missionary he relayed little more than a frown.   
"The Lord has a hand in everything. You should not doubt that."

"Paul, enough-" Louis held his hand up to silence his little brother, not sparing him a glance. He had only just managed to reclaim his mind after finding out about Lestat's journey. Paul raised a brow in the most passive aggressive manner, though did not speak, and Louis was grateful for it. Lestat was smug for it, and a smile danced upon his lips.

"Come, Lestat. I'll lead you to your quarters. You must be exhausted and there is more I'd like to discuss."

"What will people say?" Lestat grinned, making to leave the room without a glance at the other two.

~♡~

"No doubt you were far more concerned for me than my family." Lestat remarked, eyes fixed to the floor with some faint glimmer of hope that had not yet been trampled out. Louis observed this. 

"I'm afraid that was the impression I got." He replied tenderly. Lestat's shoulders slumped ever so slightly and they walked in silence for a moment until the blonde shook himself of it. 

"It's how it has always been. Still, that one person cared is sweet enough. Though I would never have expected it to be my new master." 

"I'm not your master, Lestat." He locked eyes with the other immediately. He needed him to know this. With the rest of the de Lioncourts the need was not so desperate, perhaps because he wished to grant Lestat the respect he had been denied throughout his life and so felt he must over compensate. That's what he made to tell himself, however he knew it was more likely the second he saw Lestat he knew he would not be ruled, nor did he want to rule him.

"You are something of the sort, apparently." Lestat shrugged with a small smile upon his lips.

"Thank you, for your hospitality." He murmured, his voice silken as they stopped at the entrance to the service quarters. It was a bold move to grab Louis' hand, but Lestat was nothing if not bold nor impatient. So he took both of them in his own and squeezed, somewhat startling the other.

"There...there will be a carriage...w-waiting for you tomorrow. 6.30 sharp." Louis stuttered as calmly as he possibly could. How could this angel touch him so unabashedly? How could he assume Louis' own preferences? Did he care or was he just this fearless? Perhaps a devil more than an angel then. Who cares, it was brilliant.

Lestat laughed and released as if reading his mind.   
"I thank you for that as well, my lovely friend. Or shall I say master?" He winked. Damn this man. He was almost angry with Lestat's boldness.

"Louis is fine. Go inside now, you'll need your rest." He all but huffed, revelling in the other's teasing regardless. What an experience this would be.


	5. Thank you, Wolfkiller.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intense musician puts Lestat on edge.

Where have you been?" Phillipe mumbled. turning his back to Lestat as light flooded into the room.

"Already whoring himself out to some unlucky bastard probably." 

"Oh shut up. As it happens I didn't manage to get a horse."

Gabrielle tutted from her place in wooden chair, not glancing up from her book.   
"Do you still have the money?" 

"Yes, dear mother." Lestat dead-panned, dumping his coat and surveying the room. His face slumped. 

"Is there another bed, or were you going to gift me the floor?"

"Phillipe, move into Auguste's bed. Stat needs his sleep."

"No. Why should I have to suffer for that dickhead's mistakes?" Phillipe shot, spreading himself out to prove a point.

"You can sleep with the chickens if you'd rather?" 

With a deep sigh, the middle child climbed the ladder to Auguste's bed and made himself comfortable, with no aid on his brother's part. 

"You'd better nod straight off in a bed to yourself. We all have work to do tomorrow you know." Auguste snapped as he reluctantly moved up.

Lestat fell into the bed and shifted to face the wall, turning from his family as if to shut them out. Dangerous move on his part, he should expect a knife in the back. 

~ ♡ ~ 

The next morning was painful. It was as though his eyes had been torn open and scrubbed with some vicious instrument. He didn't respond to anyone's remarks. In moods like this Lestat was poison, and he thought it better to distance himself from everyone than wake their new masters by hollering up a storm or smashing something valuable. Or committing murder for that matter, it really was a hard morning. So he'd found a place to wash himself, and at 6:15 He made his way down to the main entrance to introduce himself to the horse.

Placing a tender hand on it's mane, He began speaking gently to it. He knew he probably looked rather ludicrous, but he'd always had an affinity for horses. Horses - in some roundabout way - had always symbolised freedom for him. 

The speed with which they could carry him away from the chateau had often brought him great comfort. This horse was just as sweet as any other, not some great racing beast but a perfectly capable creature, a fine one with warm eyes and chestnut hair. He was so absorbed in familiarizing himself with the thing that he hadn't noticed Louis approaching with a small china cup in each hand.

"Coffee." He murmured, with a smile the likes of which enchanted Lestat. Soft, with those lovely eyes shining. 

"I could see from the doors how tired you are." 

Lestat took the cup gratefully and downed a greedy sip, uncaring for the burn. Then he composed himself.  
"You woke up this early to give me Coffee? You're obviously obsessed with me." 

"Don't flatter yourself." Louis chuckled.

"I have a great many things to see to. There are no lie ins running a plantation." 

"Woe is you, you beautiful, rich, well loved man." Lestat smirked, wicked expression melting into adoration as he glanced back at the horse.

Playing off the compliment, Louis watched him carefully. 

"You like horses then?" 

"A great deal. They were always so pure. And useful." Lestat grinned, carding his slender fingers through the creature's mane. 

"Perhaps if I spoke to Monsieur Henri, there would be a place for you at the stables on the weekends. It would still be work, mind you. But would being near the horses suit you?"

Lestat tried to disguise the way his eyes lit up, though it was a struggle. For someone just to do something so kind, seemingly for no reason, took him rather off guard. 

"...very much so. Thank you, Louis."

"It's no bother. Now give me that cup and be on your way, you have jewellery to sell." 

Lestat downed the cup and passed it back to Louis, thanking him with his eyes in a way that his words would not accomplish. And then he boarded the carriage. 

~♡~ 

Lestat had just made an incredible sale. A silver necklace and earring set, inlaid with diamonds. They matched perfectly of course, they were made to be sold together. But what impressed Henri the most was his talent for always applying more. So he had sold a bracelet that also went rather well with the set, and a ring too. She simply must have them if she were to go to this theatre. And the brooch as well. She could wear this set for many occasions, it would be good for her to have interchangeable items. In fact, Lestat was close to selling this couple a silver and diamond item in every form of accessory, minus a hairpin and some other miscellaneous ones. 

So impressed was Henri that he told the blonde to take some time to himself and wander new Orleans, perhaps get himself that horse. 

So he found himself wandering the streets quite unsure of what to do with himself for a little while. Though he was soon distracted by a street musician. A young man, about Lestat's age. His curling dark hair cascaded over his eyes, and in his concentration he didn't pay the blonde any heed. But why should he? Lestat was just another passer by, and he, in his passion, enamoured with his violin and slave to the erractic demands of beethoven should rightly have no interest in a simple observer. 

He was quite hypnotic for all his dedication though, and a pang of longing tugged at him as he was reminded of Nicki. How similar this man was to him. He also felt great envy that her would never have such talent, or such a relationship with music to be so swept up with it and still play so immaculately. Suddenly those eyes shifted up to him, fixated upon him. They were a lovely brown, and would have been warmer were it not for their intensity. He looked upon him as if he were calculating something, or committing his face to memory for no romantic purpose but for some necessity. 

What was it with him and dark haired men? Though as lovely as he was, Lestat couldn't help but replace those eyes with Louis', and the musician paled in comparison to him. He tossed a coin into the cup at the man's feet, and pondered the gaze as he turned to leave. 

"Thank you, wolfkiller." Came the strange response, and Lestat shook his head as though he'd misheard. He'd had every intention of getting something to eat during this leisure time, but a building caught his attention. That building, aptly named Le Chat Noir. It was a rickety tavern, reminiscent of those classic bars of the earlier centuries rather than the palatial columned buildings that the Creole habitually produced. 

A true dive; one that crawled with disease, Lestat imagined. The people outside of it were in equal parts prostitute and drunkard, and Lestat could not resist such a colourful atmosphere.

When he stepped inside, the place came alive. Gone was the quite of the new orleans streets. In this place one would believe it to be perpetually evening. A band in the corner played some delightful shanty, rapid and controlling. The sort that forced you up onto your feet. Crowds of people danced to it, tripping over chairs in their midst and paying no heed as they did. It was wild.

"Drink, Monsieur?" An ebony haired lady beamed, offering a tray of tankards as she did. On his break? He shouldn't. So he did. He took one and grinned, dropping a franc onto the tray. She dreadfully overcharged him of course, but so be it. 

"Merci." He nodded, surveying the place with his cool violet eyes. He promised himself he wouldn't stay long after taking a sip, the stuff tasted of cat's piss. 

However he would return to this glorious place after the shop had closed and really become acquainted with the patrons.

~♡~ 

"Do you know that musician on the street?" Lestat asked thoughtfully, tweaking one of the jewelled displays as Henrietta did her own thing. 

"What musician on what street? You'll have to be more specific than that Lestat, this is new orleans." Came the flattened response as she concentrated on the sales book. Lestat raised a brow indignantly. 

"Forgive me. The man no more than two years my senior with dark eyes, dark curly hair and a rosewood violin. Brown embroidered coat, brown leather boots. About 5"11 And haunts the left end of the next street over, half a foot from the bakery. Enough details?"

"Not quite but i know this place well." Lestat sent a glare her way warning that he had grown tired of playing. Henrietta smiled resignedly and looked to him, finally placing the book down to give him her full attention. 

"I don't have any recollection of him. Why do you ask?" 

The blonde seemed almost nervous for a moment, and picked his sleeve to detach himself from this unusual sensation.

"He called me wolfkiller. How does he know?"

"Lestat, everybody knows. Madmoiselle Brigitte couldn't keep her mouth shut if you sewed it and now you're the talk of the town. Why are you so concerned by it?" 

Lestat bit his lip, turning his head to focus upon something else, some nondescript distraction. That scratch on the table was rather fascinating. 

"I'm not concerned. It is very strange to me, that's all, that everyone should know me." He paused for thought. He had always thrived under attention like a lion parched at a water hole. What was this about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed :)

**Author's Note:**

> How do you guys feel about this so far? Not too sure about how it will evolve yet but I have many ideas!   
> 


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